


Jealousy

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Gen, Incorrect assumptions, M/M, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran and Theron learn an important lesson regarding committed relationships and deep insecurities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Declarations

Theron felt oddly awkward as he handed the witch the cloth-wrapped bundle he’d brought from Orzammar, as if it were something illicit he was trying to get off his hands as soon as possible.

“What have you there?” Morrigan asked, sounding healthily suspicious as she paused in packing up her things and unwrapped it. “If it is something Zevran or Alistair convinced you would be an amusing trick, tis not the-” She stopped when she caught the gleam of silver and gold. “A mirror?” She asked, letting the cloth fall to the ground.

“I found this at a merchant’s stall while looking for poultices, and I remembered when you told me about that mirror from when you were a child, how Flemeth smashed it. I still think it was a harsh lesson.” The ranger explained, shifting uncomfortably. He had little clue how Morrigan would react - he hoped it would be positive - but she was just so unpredictable, with no apparent good days to approach her, it actually made him feel a little afraid of the witch. Completely unrelated to the fact she could apparently change at will into a wolf or a giant spider, of course, but that was another matter.

“It is… Just the same.” Morrigan replied slowly, turning it round so the gold backing flashed and glimmered in the sunlight. “It is incredible that you found one so like it. I… I am uncertain what to say.” She looked up at the Grey Warden then. “You must wish something in return, certainly.”

“Morrigan, it’s a gift. You don’t need to give me anything. I was going to give it to you earlier, but I didn’t have the time.” Theron replied.

“I have never received a gift. Not one that did not also come with a price attached. But, I would be a fool not to accept such a gift with grace. Your gift is… Most thoughtful.”

Theron smiled at the human, and shrugged, starting to feel a little more at ease now Morrigan hadn’t rejected the gift or scorned him for it.

“No problem.” He replied, turning and heading back to where the rest of the tents were grouped to help the others break camp; they were heading for the Brecilian Forest again at last, and Theron was too happy to notice the way Morrigan watched him go, looking down at the mirror thoughtfully.

 

A week or so later, Theron should have known something was up from the way Zevran looked at him as he approached, ready to suggest they turn in for the night. Should have known it from how quiet he’d been the past few days. The Antivan looked almost resigned.

“Zevran, what’s…?” Theron began, but the other elf cut him off.

“I have a question for you.” Zevran said, glancing up to check that any of the others weren’t within eavesdropping distance.

Theron raised an eyebrow in wary curiosity, wondering if it was another question about his clan. They’d returned to the Dalish camp at the edge of the Brecilian forest, and naturally half the party had become curious about his upbringing again, remembering questions they’d forgotten to ask the first time around.

“You and… Morrigan are quite close, no? I am curious as to the nature of your relationship.”

The Dalish elf blinked.

“Morrigan and I are close?” He repeated, struggling to figure out what had set this off. To him, Morrigan had been as contemptuous and impossible to talk to as ever during their travels, but she had walked with him on the road down to the forest. She’d trailed out after him during the Denerim incident, as well, but that had been weeks ago. Theron frowned, trying to think of anything more recent. He supposed he’d taken her along with him on more missions lately, but he’d also taken Zevran with him at the same time, so it wasn’t like he’d been ignoring the other elf for the witch while they sorted out what felt like all of Ferelden’s woes. He’d forgotten about the mirror now it was Morrigan’s.

“Yes, she seems quite taken with you.” Zevran nodded, folding his arms.

“As far as I can tell, she’s just been more cutting than ever towards me, I’m not sure if that’d count as us being close.”

“I’ve watched you and she together. I know a complication when it rears it’s head and threatens to bite.”

Theron’s frown deepened, feeling utterly lost. Either he’d missed something central, or Zevran was talking nonsense about Morrigan tonight. It was more than a little worrying now, given how the Antivan seemed to be less animated than usual. As if he’d reached a decision.

“What do you mean, a complication?” The Dalish elf asked slowly, still feeling incredibly confused, and Zevran shrugged.

“You and I have had our fun, but Morrigan does not seem the type to share.” Theron’s eyes widened, feeling his heart plummet in sickening realisation. Zevran-? “If there is something between you, I’ll happily step aside.” Zevran didn’t sound too happy. “There, complication avoided. Everyone is happy.”

“We’ve… ‘had our fun’?” Theron repeated woodenly. Zevran actually thought there was something between himself and _Morrigan_? Just from watching them talk about trivial things? The black-haired elf took an unexpectedly rapid breath in, more of a gasp, and gritted his teeth. More importantly, Zevran would bow out of their relationship just like that? The thought alone made a lump rise in the ranger’s throat. He’d known from the start that the Antivan was one of loose morals, but he’d thought that he would have put up more of a fight for their relationship, even if it was against Morrigan. He became aware that Zevran was speaking again, and watching him carefully.

“I make no claims upon you,” Theron’s heart sank a little further. “and nor would I dream of such.” A lot further. Zevran paused as the Dalish elf slowly lowered himself to sit on the ground, Dudain trotting over to sit beside him. Staring unseeingly at the campfire, Theron began to repetitively stroke the hound’s back.

“You are free to pursue your fancies as you desire, and I would have it no other way.” The former Crow made himself continue, wanting to get all of it said and out the way as he’d practiced earlier in the tent, so the Grey Warden could make his choice. They had indeed had their fun these past months, but if Theron had decided he was done with the failed assassin, or with men entirely, he could not begrudge him, even though it hurt to think of him with Morrigan, sharing those fleeting moments of affection and rare laughter or genuine smiles with her. He was like her, in that way; they would get on well together. Already did. Zevran closed his eyes for a moment.

“If there truly is something between you and I, it cannot include her.”

“You act as if I don’t know that.” Theron spoke up, voice flat. Dudain whined, looking from the Warden to Zevran and back uncertainly.

“I am many things, Theron. A murderer, a thief, a lover… But I am no cheat.” Zevran replied. “If whatever is between us cannot be honest, let it not be at all.”

The ranger gripped at the mabari’s short brown fur, swallowing and blinking hard, hoping that Zevran wouldn’t be able to see his face from this angle against the firelight.

How could Zevran have ever thought he was interested in _Morrigan_? How could he have thought their relationship was nothing, after the months they’d spent together, after he’d spared his _life_?”

Theron hadn’t realised he’d said it - or, in fact, yelled it - until he realised Morrigan and Leliana had gone quiet at the other side of the campfire and were staring; she must have come over at some point during their conversation to talk to Leliana. The ranger shot to his feet, looking at Zevran, ignoring the deeply wounded expression he saw starting to break through Morrigan’s shock.

“Do you think I’m truly that fickle? That callous?” The Dalish elf said, not bothering to keep his voice down - Morrigan would have found out anyway in whatever form soon enough, so better she hear it directly from him. Zevran looked shocked, but the black-haired man suddenly didn’t want to find out if it was due to his sudden outburst, the fact he could feel panicked tears stinging his eyes, or that he’d quite effectively made his decision known to the entire camp.

“ _Mi amor_ , I’m sorry. I thought that-”

Theron closed his eyes and shook his head, brushing off the arm that reached out to touch his shoulder comfortingly.

“I thought you cared about me, that you wanted to be with me, but I suppose I was wrong about that.” He said bitterly, storming into their tent to grab his pack, a spare bedroll and his bow. “Don’t bother trying to follow me.” He added as he swept past the speechless Antivan, heading for the torches they used to mark the entrance to the camp. Theron left the dark camp behind with Dudain at his side, leaving behind the silence of shock and two broken hearts.


	2. Come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sten is unimpressed as always, and Theron is a tree-climbing expert.

A few days later, there was still no sign of Theron or Dudain anywhere near the thick forest surrounding the camp. No-one had followed the ranger out of camp that night, and truthfully Alistair had wished several times that someone had, so they could have had an idea of where the elf had gone. Then again, he reflected glumly as he began to walk back towards camp in a wide circle, the Brecilian Forest was Theron’s home. He probably knew it like the back of his hand. If he didn’t want any of the group to find him, he was as good as gone until he decided to return. _If_ he wanted to return.

Besides, given how neither Zevran or Morrigan had joined the search yet, that limited what ground the remaining three could cover in a day. There was no telling how far away Theron could have gone with his day and a half’s headstart. Alistair paused, looking up towards the thick canopy of leaves.

“Theron!” He called with his hands cupping his mouth, hoping endlessly that he would get some response from that as if he was calling a cat. In some ways he was. His voice echoed, startling a bird into a panicked, clattering flight somewhere overhead, but other than that the only other sounds were of his breathing and the wind in the trees.

High overhead, Theron watched as Alistair’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat, and he continued walking back the way he’d come.

The camp was quiet when Alistair returned; Zevran hadn’t stirred from his tent - his own, rather than Theron’s - apart from grabbing the meal one of them left outside it two or three times a day. Morrigan’s shelter was set apart from the rest of the camp, as was her habit, and Alistair hadn’t dared approach the witch just yet to try and figure out exactly what had happened.

Sten was standing by the ashes of the fire, staring down at them sternly.

“Good, you’re back. Were the Dalish camp any help?” Alistair asked. He should have checked with the Dalish first, to see if Theron had gone to stay with the clan.

The Qunari shook his head firmly.

“No. They were evasive when I questioned them about Theron, and when I pressed them they suggested it would be wise of me to leave. They are hiding something. They know where he is, and refuse to tell us.” Sten explained, confirming what Alistair had hoped _wouldn’t_ have been the case. Theron must have passed through, perhaps stayed the rest of the night with the clan, and asked them to not say anything to the rest of his group. After they’d narrowly saved them from an all out war with the werewolves...

“Wonderful. What an excellent way of repaying our help.” Alistair sighed, resting his head in one hand wearily. He supposed that was the way of the Dalish, protecting their own above all else.

“ _Vashedan_.” Sten agreed.

Alistair looked around the otherwise deserted camp, realising how dead it must look for the rest of the day when the three of them weren’t checking in to update each other on their progress.

“Has Leliana come back yet?” The ex-Templar asked, moving to sit on one of the logs they used as a bench. The giant shook his head again.

“Not that I have seen.”

“I’ll wait for her.”

“I shall keep looking.” With that, Sten turned and began to walk back into the forest.

_Basra vashedan_ , how could Theron be their leader if he kept abandoning them whenever his emotions decreed? They were wandering gradually further from the darkspawn horde and the archdemon on endless political dallying. When were they to face it? When that elf had finally mastered his emotions, was no longer _maraas imekari_? When their hair turned grey and their limbs were too weak to hold weapons while the horde grew and spread? What a fearsome vanguard they would make, if that were the case. Sten shot the surrounding trees a glare as he walked. Perhaps he could find a stray werewolf or moving tree to bury his sword in.

 

Leliana was out in a different section of the forest, one they’d already mostly covered. She’d walked for what certainly felt like hours. There was thicker, older growth here, the trees grew taller, closer together and seemed to whisper among themselves in surprised disapproval about the _shemlen_ walking underneath their lofty boughs.

The bard merely hummed softly to herself, eyes on the mossy ground at her feet as she picked her way over large roots and rocks as if she knew exactly where she was going. There was the sounds of heavy footsteps behind her, and she turned with a hand on the hilt of her dagger to see Dudain. He barked happily at her as he bounded over, waggling his hindquarters as if he didn’t have a stub of a tail.

“Hello.” She cooed, getting down on one knee to stroke the war hound’s heavy square head. “Where’s Theron?” She asked, knowing that if the dog was here, the ranger wouldn’t be far. Dudain stopped wriggling in happiness, and whined uncertainly, looking over his shoulder, back the way she’d come.

“I only want to talk to him. I’m not going to try and drag him back to camp.” Leliana promised, raising her voice slightly just in case the dark-skinned elf was nearby. Dudain blinked at her, and then looked up over her shoulder, towards the branches of the trees behind the bard.

Slowly, Leliana turned to follow the dog’s gaze. The sunlight streamed in through gaps in the canopy, leaving sections of the large branches in shadow. But there, silhouetted just at the edge of one such patch of shadow, almost blending in entirely, she thought she could see Theron standing there calmly on a wide branch like it was the ground, weight leant on one foot, his arms folded over his chest. He was completely silent, watching the two down on the forest floor. Leliana licked her lips, and then straightened up.

They stared at each other, as if Theron was some wild creature assessing whether she would be a threat, something to flee from. And in a way, he was just that. The bard was fully aware that she and the rest of the group had no place in this forest, let alone herself alone in the deep woods like this, and Theron had every right to ignore her and melt back into the forest. The Dalish elf’s shoulders lifted, and then fell in a deep sigh she was too far away to hear, and then he slipped back into the depths of the trees. She could just about see him climbing his way down, blending in with the dark, mottled greens and browns.

The bard stood there quietly as he approached her, almost too afraid to speak. So, Theron was the one to speak first.

“I underestimated how much that stupid mirror meant to her.” He muttered, sitting down on the curved roots at the base of a tree; after a second, Leliana joined him, and Dudain sat down in front of them.

“If I’d have known she would have started to think of me like _that_ even though I was obviously with Zevran, I wouldn’t have given her that mirror.” Theron continued, and Leliana reached out carefully to rest a reassuring hand on the elf’s bare knee. He blinked hard - despite the carefully neutral, almost grim expression he wore now, his eyes were red and puffy, so he’d clearly struggled to force his emotions back down in the time he’d been gone - but he didn’t pull away from her touch. That was a good sign.

“Everyone’s been worried about you.” Leliana continued, retracting her hand and instead focusing on scratching behind Dudain’s ears. The hound let out a soft, appreciative sound, and tilted his head towards her hand.

“I’ve been a fool, running off like this over something so trivial.” The ranger mumbled bitterly, staring down at his hands. “I just didn’t know what else to do. They don’t hate me?”

Leliana shook her head slowly.

“I can’t speak for Morrigan - you may have to apologise to her if you come back, but you would save Alistair some early grey hairs. And if I hated you, would I have come all the way out here to look for you?”

Theron glanced up at the redhead, knowing there was one last thorn to remove.

“And what about…?”

“He hasn’t left his tent.”

“He hasn’t left the group?”

“That may not have occurred to him yet.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did, whether I was there or not.”

Theron stared down at the mossy ground beneath his boots, feeling his heart twist.

“ _Len'alas lath'din_ ,” He sighed tersely, apparently scolding himself due to the tone of his voice. “I have been terrible to everyone at one point or another.”

“No-one can be nice to everyone all the time.” The bard pointed out, looking up at the elf sympathetically.

“Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the camp left after this, and we haven’t even gotten all of the treaties fulfilled yet.” Theron lowered his head into his hands, rubbing at his forehead.

“I won’t leave. And I’m sure Alistair won’t. You’ll have Dudain with you until the end, as well.”

“ _Da'mi_ , you are too loyal. You deserve a leader who doesn’t run from his emotions like this, or abandons the people he loves.”

Leliana smiled sadly, reaching over again to pat Theron’s shoulder.

“Perhaps I am.” She agreed, receiving a hollow chuckle for her efforts. Not one of his true laughs, but it was a step in the right direction.

“I just thought he would have cared about me more. That he wouldn’t step aside just like that when something seems to threaten our relationship.”

“But don’t you see? That means he does care about you. He wanted you to be happy, even if that meant you were no longer with him.”

“But I do want to be with him. It felt like he hadn’t even considered that when he started talking. Maybe we’re too different.” Theron mused glumly, and Leliana got the sense he’d been telling himself this for the past few days as he no doubt roamed the forest.

“Sometimes difference is a good thing.” The younger human disagreed, keeping her hand on Theron’s shoulder. “And if he hadn’t considered it, maybe you could tell it him yourself? Let him know you only want him?” She suggested, and the Dalish elf finally looked up from his boots.

“He really hasn’t left his tent?”

Leliana nodded in confirmation, getting to her feet. Theron hesitated, but then got up after her.

“I’m not sure if I should dread this reunion or not.” He sighed, walking alongside the redhead as they started back, his feet notably more steady on the uneven ground than hers.

“Perhaps you should talk to Morrigan first, and hope she doesn’t tear you to pieces as a spider before you get a chance to talk to Zevran.” Leliana advised, glancing around as they slowly began to leave the deeper woods behind, Dudain running on ahead of them or pausing to sniff trees and rocks.

“I think I will.” Theron agreed with a weary smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that Theron treats Leliana almost like a little sister, even thought he was unimpressed by her initial casual racism towards him.  
> Translations:  
> Vashedan - Crap  
> Basra vashedan - Foreigner trash  
> maraas imekari - a child bleating without meaning  
> Len'alas lath'din - dirty child no one loves  
> Da'mi - little blade, an endearment


	3. Reconciliations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks are had at long last.

Theron was prepared for Morrigan’s death glare from across the camp as soon as he followed Leliana out of the trees. The redhead gave him a supportive smile, and went over to an astonished-looking Alistair who looked at them both as if Leliana had managed to pull Andraste herself out of thin air.

The elf took a deep breath, and skirted round the tents as he approached the black-haired witch who stood with folded arms a short distance away from her shelter.

“No need to say it. I can read your intentions from you expression, even if I had not been privy to your... _Discussion_.” She said icily, making the ranger halt just outside of normal conversation space as if she’d just frozen his boots to the ground.

“Then we don’t need to drag this out.” He agreed, trying to keep his hands still by his sides rather than fidget uncomfortably.

“You chose a _man_ over me.” Morrigan continued, and Theron felt a small spark of irritation. It wasn’t like he’d ever made his preferences subtle - turning down the first few unsubtle hints from Leliana, trying to cautiously figure Alistair out from afar. That had been _before_ they’d met Zevran. He kept quiet, however, knowing it would be best to let Morrigan get it out of her system, like draining poison or infection from a wound.

“I must say, this is new to me, but let us give credit where it is due, shall we? The assassin certainly has his charms.” Morrigan unfolded her arms, and took a small step back, towards the safety of her belongings. “If this is what you desire, then go. By all means.” She added, making a small, clipped gesture towards the rest of the camp as if she was shooing him away.

The Dalish elf nodded slowly, taking a step back himself before pausing.

“You’re not angry, are you?” He asked, although he could guess. Morrigan’s narrowed eyes answered that before she spoke.

“I would not ask that, were I you.” She advised, voice colder than normal. She looked away again, and seemed to come to a decision. “Let us not speak of this again.”

Theron nodded in mute agreement, before turning and walking back to where the rest of the tents were. The gnawing feeling of guilt in his stomach had eased somewhat, now he had talked with Morrigan, but it had festered over the days he had roamed the old growth, torturing himself with thoughts of Zevran being long gone when he returned, or having decided to end their relationship so he could pursue some imagined thing with Morrigan.

Alistair and Leliana had drifted over to the camp entrance, no doubt to give him privacy with Zevran.

“We’re going to get Sten, we shouldn’t be too long.” Alistair called, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot until Theron nodded. He watched the two go, and then looked over at Zevran’s tent. The flaps were firmly shut to the afternoon sun, but the Dalish elf’s shadow fell across them. If Zevran was looking towards the entrance - no doubt he was, with the sounds of footsteps so close - he would easily be able to recognise the silhouette projected onto the taut canvas.

“Zevran, can I come in?” Theron asked, fully prepared to not receive an answer. “You know as well as I that this talk’s long overdue.”

As he’d expected, there was silence for several long minutes, but then first one, then the other flap twitched and shivered as they were untied from the inside and left to hang. Theron hesitated before he walked in, seeing Zevran re-crossing his legs as he sat back down on his bedroll.

The black-haired elf paused just within the entrance, uncertainly, as he watched the former Crow pick up one of his daggers and a soft cloth he must have been polishing the blade with. Then he noticed the small vial of violent green liquid within arm’s reach of the Antivan.

“I’ll volunteer for target practice.” He offered in the silence, and Zevran didn’t even glance up from the smooth grey metal. There were shadows under his half-lidded eyes, and his expression was one of tired acquiescence.

The Dalish elf sighed, figuring the better way to get a reaction. He stopped awkwardly hovering in the entrance, and went to sit next to the former assassin, careful with the blades and glass bottles of poisons untidily strewn over the floor. He reached out and gently rested a hand over one of the other elf’s wrists, making him stop and look up at last.

“Zevran, I’m so sorry for what I said that night.” Theron began gently. “I was upset - we both were - and I shouldn’t have been that cruel to you or Morrigan, yelling like that so the whole camp could hear.”

Zevran’s expression was carefully guarded, giving nothing away. It was the sort he tended to wear when they played Wicked Grace or some other card game, and had probably worn a lot during his time as a Crow. Theron pressed on regardless.

“It was like you were convinced I was going to cast you aside for _Morrigan_ , of all people. I’d never do that to you. I’d never get tired of you. I was just angry that you were so willing to step aside like that, even though I knew that’s the sort of person you are…” The Dalish elf trailed off, still looking at the unusually quiet Antivan sitting next to him.

Zevran sighed, and then carefully wrapped the blade up in the cloth and set it aside.

“That is true, and I was unprepared for your reaction. Yet, I had convinced myself during the journey to the Brecilian Forest that you would indeed one day prefer to share your tent with Morrigan.” He replied quietly. “I kept thinking about how you and she were so alike, and I must admit it pained me.” The blond drew one knee up to his chest and rested his arm over it, a gesture of nonchalance that didn’t fool either of them. “I think there was even a part of me that was jealous somehow. Of you or her, I don’t know.” He added with a humourless, self-deprecating chuckle.

“I won’t ever leave you, Zevran.” Theron replied, withdrawing his hand.

“I know, but despite how many times you say it, I still await the day you may come to me and tell me that what we have is over.” Zevran looked down at his boots sadly. “I cannot change that, Theron. You have been kind to me, far kinder than someone should be to a man hired to kill them. You had the chance to kill me, and, in fact, you still do.”

“You do as well.” Theron pointed out, his gaze flicking to the clothed blade, and the others scattered carelessly around the tent. Zevran nodded in agreement.

“So can everyone else in the camp, but they are loyal to you. I am loyal to you. I swore an oath, do you remember?”

Theron allowed himself a faint smile, remembering how Zevran had tried to flirt his way out of death even as he lay injured and bloodied on the ground, surrounded by his dead comrades after the failed ambush. How he’d quickly figured out that the stern-faced Dalish elf standing over him with a longbow in one hand was more merciful than his appearance would suggest to strangers.

“Yes. I seem to remember you calling me utterly gorgeous, as well.”

“There. Two reasons out of several why I do not intend to kill you.” Zevran replied sounding faintly proud of the fact.

“I still feel a bit… Uncomfortable with all of these daggers lying around. Why do you have so many?” Theron asked curiously, reaching out to cautiously nudge one with the tip of his boot as Zevran chuckled again, a more genuine sound.

“An assassin, even a failed one such as myself, is always prepared.” The Antivan replied, looking up at the Dalish elf. “Let us hope we never act on our urges to kill, yes? There are pleasanter urges to act on in life.” He suggested, about to run a hand through his hair before he remembered the poison-soaked cloth he’d been using.

“Agreed.” Theron sighed, blinking as Zevran got to his feet.

“Seeing how you have been away from camp for a few days - and, in fact, grew up in this forest, I’m assuming it is not too much of a stretch for you to know where the nearest stream or pond may be?” The blond asked a little sheepishly, and Theron got to his feet.

“I know several. I think we could both do with a wash, to be honest.” The black-haired elf sighed, following Zevran out to camp. Leliana and Alistair weren’t back with Sten yet, so the camp was quiet apart from Dudain’s happy bark of greeting.

The Dalish elf led the way through the trees, not noticing the silence between them. There was still something on his mind.

“You don’t think you have a claim on me?” He asked softly, looking down at his feet. Zevran looked over, feeling a small twinge of guilt as he once more ran over what they’d said on that night. It would not do to lie so Theron could be falsely reassured.

“I am afraid not, _mi amor_. I do care about you, but I do not wish to be a burden. You should be free to pursue your fancies, as I said, even if those fancies revolve around me.” The former assassin nodded, stepping lightly around a tree that came between them.

“Zevran, you’re not a burden to me. I feel that I’ve made my feelings towards you rather clear, even though I’m not sure if you reciprocate all of them. I’m sorry for what I said.” The ranger answered, glancing up at the blond elf walking beside him.

“You do not need to keep apologising. You were not the one to assume so much on so little evidence.”

“I can’t believe how blind I was to Morrigan. I didn’t think the mirror I gave her would mean so much. She didn’t seem to act too different after that, but either she’s too subtle or I’m too used to your outrageous flirting.”

Zevran smirked.

“Are you saying that I have spoiled you with compliments, dear Warden?” He asked slyly, and Theron bit his lip to stop himself from giving an answering smirk beyond a twitch of his lips.

“Not so much compliments as lurid suggestions, but yes, I do.” He nodded, looking around at the trees and changing direction slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to stop.” He added quickly, able to hear the other elf take a breath in to no doubt suggest it.

“Hmm. Are you sure? If it means you will be able to pick up on more discreet seduction techniques, I will happily keep quiet.”

Theron blinked, Zevran’s words sounding rather similar to what he’d said earlier, about stepping aside.

“No, I wouldn’t be interested in someone who wasn’t you. Besides, I’m Dalish. We’re not exactly a subtle people, so I prefer not dancing coyly around matters.”

Zevran nodded in agreement, remembering how Theron had so eagerly reciprocated the flirting when they had first met, as well as their first night sharing a tent after a massage - even if the night had ended on a bad note, as dangerous as a knife’s edge.

They grew quiet again until they reached a small stream at the base of a waterfall.

“Do you need any help with your armour?” The black-haired elf asked.

“Just my gloves, truthfully.” Zevran replied, holding his hands up carefully so the other elf could take them off. He turned away to start washing them, but the former Crow caught the faint smile when he held the Dalish gloves again, fingers brushing over warm, supple leather and stitching that was only just starting to fray.

The Antivan smiled as well, ducking his head just in case Theron happened to look behind him, and then walked over to start washing his arms and hands clean of poison. They worked quietly for a time, content to let the sounds of water rushing by and animal cries in the forest around them fill the silence between them.

“Do you still feel homesick?” Zevran asked, standing up from where he had been crouched now his hands were clean and hopefully poison-free, wriggling his cold fingers before he began to take his boots and armour off. Theron paused in setting the dripping gloves aside at the question.

“A little.” He admitted, straightening up as well and looking around the forest. Zevran knew he was only being this honest because they were alone; if they were back in camp with someone able to hear them, Theron would have vehemently denied any such feelings. “But I had to leave the Sabrae clan, or I would be dead by now. And considering everything I’ve done since I left, I think it was for the best. No matter how homesick I get whenever I return here or see a clan, saving so many lives outweighs it by far.” Theron sighed, stretching his arms out. “It’s not like I can go back once this is over, anyway. I’m a Grey Warden now, and I will be for the rest of my life, however long that’ll be.”

“And you have my word that I will follow you every step of the way.” The Antivan nodded solemnly as he stepped into the stream and began to walk the short distance upstream to the waterfall. He missed the sad, knowing look that Theron gave his turned back.  There were some things he just couldn't tell the Antivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who had a lapse of judgement and is now sitting here watching the deluxe edition of Inquisition preload? :D I may have made a terrible mistake. I'm not sure whether I'll start another series based around that - definitely not until I've finished Origins, at least. I'll make notes.

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back, free of work for another few weeks!  
> This will be about three chapters long, I think. After that, smut or something dark, I'm not sure yet...


End file.
